


The Art of Holmesian Compromise

by Lavellington



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Humour, The fridge is for food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavellington/pseuds/Lavellington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John attempts a compromise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Holmesian Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> Just an extremely silly little pre-Reichenbach fic to cheer myself up. I like to think this is set in the lovely little montage at the beginning of ASiB, between the pool and the arrival of Irene. But it could have happened any time, really. Fandom cliche ahoy! Thanks to Ivy for the encouragement. <3

The body parts in the fridge had always been disgusting. But John had put up with them for a long time. There was something about living with Sherlock that endowed inherently undesirable words like “macabre”, or “dangerous”, or “criminal” with a certain element of excitement. He always put up a token resistance, to avoid appearing like a pushover, but really John couldn’t bring himself to complain too much about Sherlock’s flaws. They were too closely tied to Sherlock’s attractions.

John had always considered himself to be a reasonable man, and living with Sherlock had only strengthened this opinion, despite Sherlock’s obvious unsuitability as any kind of barometer for reasonable behaviour. He decided that it was probably up to him to figure out a way to keep cadaver bits from mingling with the foodstuffs. He always seemed to end up mediating between Sherlock and other people; now apparently he was mediating between Sherlock and the groceries. 

“He means well, really,” he said to the mushrooms as he unpacked the shopping.

“He’s just very dedicated to the scientific method,” he explained to a tub of Greek yoghurt. 

“His priorites,” he added, addressing a block of cheese, “do not skew towards the domestic.”

When reasoning with the groceries proved to be almost as unsuccessful as reasoning with Sherlock, John decided it was time for Plan B. 

 

*

 

When John came down to the kitchen the next morning, wearing plaid pyjama bottoms and a t shirt Mike had given him for Christmas that said “Doctors Do It With Patience”, Sherlock was already up. He was wearing his aubergine shirt and sipping from a cup of coffee. He was frowning, either in confusion or because he’d put seven teaspoons of instant coffee into his mug again and was about to start vibrating off the furniture. John honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

“Morning,” he said, automatically clicking the kettle on.

“John, what is that?” Sherlock tipped his chin towards Plan B, which John had placed on the counter. 

“It’s a fridge,” John explained, using his reasonable voice. “A mini fridge.”

“We’ve already got a fridge,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Yes,” John agreed. Reasonably. “I couldn’t help but notice, Sherlock, that our ideas on fridge usage seem to vary slightly.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. He hated John’s reasonable voice. “I know a lot of your experiments need to be temperature controlled, but I’m still clinging to the old-fashioned idea that human appendages should be kept separately from tomorrow’s dinner. I thought two fridges would be... well, I thought it would make everyone happier.”

Sherlock looked at him, seeming surprised. “A compromise,” he said, as if he were saying “A unicorn”.

John smiled at him as he poured his tea. “Yes,” he said, “a compromise. You get to keep your experiments nicely chilled, nobody gets horrific food poisoning, and I get to pretend to be unaware of the fact that my flatmate is a nutter. Everybody wins.”

Sherlock looked amused now. “So what you’re saying is, you’re comfortable with my potential insanity as long as it doesn’t interfere with your dinner.”

“In a nutshell, yeah.”

“Extraordinary,” Sherlock murmured. “John, I believe you’ve hit on the perfect solution.”

 

*

 

When John came home from the surgery that night Sherlock was out. He sat down in his armchair and pretended to watch the news. He lasted a whole five minutes before he gave into the urge to peer into Sherlock’s new fridge. He wondered if having his own space for body parts would cause Sherlock to splash out, the way some people would on clothes, or DVDs, or ice cream, and fill the little fridge entirely with bits of people. 

He was momentarily confused when he opened the tiny fridge and saw that it was filled with food- John’s food. His groceries were wedged and squeezed in together, his rice noodles sadly squashed by his beers. When his brain came to the inevitable conclusion, he looked towards the big fridge in horror. 

“That is not what I meant, you raving bloody lunatic,” he said aloud.

Better not to know, he decided, grabbing a beer for himself from his new fridge.


End file.
